Page 12 of Impregnated By the Alpha

“I heard that!” Vera called over her shoulder. “And I don’t drug them. I just tell them I’ll cut their toes off if they try to run.”

Adria and Moira shared a wide-eyed look.

“I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for toes,” Moira teased, but she slowed down her hair to put a little space between herself and her sister, and she saw Adria do the same.

“Scary,” Adria said.

“Sometimes I wonder how we’re related.” All the time, really. If they didn’t look so similar, dark-haired, pale-skinned, blue-eyed—though Vera was rail thin where Moira was all curve—she wouldn’t be able to believe it.

They reached the town green and found a group of Rosewoods gathered there, others spilling in from the surrounding houses and shops. She spotted Spencer beside the tree, the axe in his hands.

“There you are,” he called, waving them forward through the others. “And you brought Vera, good.”

The great tree bore its wounds with dignity. Cuts crisscrossed its trunk, pale spots where the bark had been removed, and sap leaked out, oozing below. Adria reached out and rested her palm against the tree, eyes closed.

“We’ll only take a small group,” Spencer went on, selecting two more wolves in addition to Adria, Vera, and Moira. “I want two people standing guard here at the tree all day in case they come back and try to finish the job. Maybe with a chainsaw this time.”

Moira gasped at the horrible image, the loud, angry sound of the chainsaw disturbing the peace of the town as it bit into the beautiful tree. Whoever could do such a thing had no heart at all. Angry murmurs rose from the gathered crowd at Spencer’s words.

“Be on your guard,” Adria cautioned before shifting into her wolf form.

The first drops of rain slipped from the sky, pattering on the leaves that sheltered them. Vera and Spencer shifted, and Moira followed suit, the warmth of her fur replacing the sweater’s touch. Her coat was as black as her hair, matching Vera’s like dark twins.

Vera dropped her nose to the ground, circling the tree as the wind blew through its branches, a spatter of rain striking them. It was going to be a miserable run, wherever they were headed, but Moira had no desire to stay back and wait with the others. She needed to know who had done this, see his face with her own eyes, and know she had been right about him her whole life.

Barking, Vera took off, following the scent trail she’d found. The others fell into line behind her, Moira at the back, Spencer hot on her heels. Rain splattered the pavement around them, and then they slipped into the woods that edged the town, heading not toward the White Winter lands but toward the Silversand ones. Toward Moira’s home.

Vera’s howl set the fur on Moira’s back up, peaked fur running down her spine. She was on the scent and picking up speed. The trees thinned as they neared the coastline, thick conifers giving way to the short, scrubby shore pines. Beneath her paws, the ground became sandy and loose. The wolf in front of her was kicking it up with his back paws, and she veered to the side to avoid a face full of it. She caught sight of Vera as she crested a sand dune.

Silversand was aptly named, and the coastline was a unique, lovely shade of grey that glittered on sunny days. That day, it reflected the color of the clouds above, a moody, tarnished pewter. Salt air filled her nose. They scrabbled down the dune and along the beach while seabirds wheeled above, their calls shrill as alarms. She wished she could silence them, certain they were drawing eyes to the windows of the shabby houses lined the beach.

Here, Vera slowed, then backtracked. For a second, it seemed she was leading them up into the town. Moira flattened her ears against her head as the rain beat down on them, but Vera wouldn’t be hurried. She picked up the scent again and led them farther along the beach, past where the houses stopped.

An old lighthouse stood alone, overlooking the ocean. Its red roof was the color of dried blood, and the sides may have been white, but they were now the color of old bandages. The glass was broken, both in the house’s windows and at the top of the tower where the old light sat, unlit.

It gave Moira the creeps to look at, the kind of place that would be filled with ghosts. Was this really where Jonah was staying? She couldn’t imagine anyone spending the night in there, not without running out screaming sometime after midnight.

They circled it, seagrass brushing against her legs. She scrabbled on the barnacle-crusted rocks, wet from sea spray, and hoped they wouldn’t have to go inside. Vera made two laps around the lighthouse. If it gave her the creeps, it didn’t show, her nose glued to the sand.

Vera pawed the door, and it swung open, but the lock was broken. She disappeared inside the lighthouse, followed by Spencer, Adria, and the other two wolves. Moira hesitated outside. She didn’t want to go in there, but maybe she’d just watched too many scary movies.

When the others did not immediately return, Moira poked her head in. The inside was as neglected as the outside, maybe more so. Broken, dusty furniture littered the room, and the kitchen was the stuff of nightmares, with dust-coated windows and cabinet doors hanging off their hinges. She sneezed, padding inside.

A staircase spiraled up to the second level, but she wouldn’t trust it to hold a cat, and she would never mind a full-grown wolf. The stairs were sagging, and the railing was hanging on by a hope. She couldn’t see the other wolves but heard scrabbling in the next room and headed toward it.

She leaped back, yelping when Vera jumped up onto a sofa in front of her. Her sister turned to face her in a look Moira could identify as “you stupid scaredy-cat” without the benefit of human expressions. Moira shook herself off and exhaled, just grateful it hadn’t been an actual monster. She wouldn’t have put it past that place.

The group moved back outside, to Moira’s relief, and gathered again at the foot of the lighthouse. The wind whipped through the grasses, bending them to touch the sand at their feet. Vera paced up and down the trail. Her tail whipped back and forth like an irritated cat’s.

It seemed she’d lost it, the trail growing cold, though wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Moira sat down, trying to find cover under the lighthouse’s narrow overhang, but the rain blew in from the side. She was soaked by the time Vera finally shifted.

“I lost it,” she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. “Well, I didn’t lose it, really, it’s just everywhere. Whoever it was has come back and forth through here so many times, it’s impossible to tell what’s what.”

Spencer leaned back against the lighthouse, arms crossed. “Why here? There’s no place to sleep, no food. Whoever is coming here doesn’t need it, so they’re coming for something else.”

“At least we can assume it’s someone from the Silversand pack,” Adria said, sounding relieved. She had been the biggest supporter of the truce with the White Winters, trusting Beth’s promises, and it would have devastated her if the path had led to them.

“I’ve got an idea,” Moira broke in, shivering. “Why don’t we all go back to the bar and discuss this over some warm food?”

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